


Custer

by CreaseEvans



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assault, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark!Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Evil Steve Rogers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incel Steve Rogers, Inceldom, Intrusion, Invasion of Privacy, Might become a fic, Misogyny, Non-Consensual Touching, One Shot, Original Character(s), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ratings: R, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Short Story, Sort Of, Stalking, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers is a Bad Man, Steve Rogers is a jerk, Steve Rogers is a villain, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-12-09 14:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20996129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreaseEvans/pseuds/CreaseEvans
Summary: This is a very derogatory concept. I haven't seen an Incel Steve-themed work yet, and I've been reading up on Inceldom a lot recently. Don't get me wrong - Inceldom is absolutely horrifying and disgusting. So I'm playing around with it. If you find this offensive, don't read it. If you can adventure and dabble in this concept without taking it literally, you are welcome to. I do plan on making this a multi-part short story, but I will only continue if I observe a viable audience for this kind of fic. All warnings apply. This contains misogynistic themes and sexist attitudes, I'm letting you know now. Again, if it's not your thing, don't read.For those of you who do want to read it, let me know and leave some likes. Hope you're all doing well. Enjoy :)





	1. Part 1

He watched her.

He _liked_ to watch her. Enjoyed watching her. There was no question about it–she was pleasant to look at. To see. To watch. To devour with hungry eyes until every ounce of her shrunk back into a dark corner.

She was beautiful–no, she was a _masterpiece_. Be it her strappy, modest little heels that clicked along the pavement like an echo of his heart, beating harder and harder with each passing second as she scurried in the wind of the dark, malicious city streets. Be it her off-white blouse, through which the shadow of her strapless bra could be seen–of course, she _wanted_ people to see it. Be it her snug pencil skirt, or the sway of her hips as she ushered on home, constantly glancing around like a thief at daybreak.

Or, be it her neat, punctual hair, pulled back carefully and high into a tail that was as tight as must be her–

Steve stopped himself. A cold, apathetic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He picked up his pace then.

_ Thirty feet…_

_ Twenty feet…_

_ Fifteen feet…_

At ten feet behind her anxious, speedy frame, he could almost smell the fear pooling between her legs. The footfalls of his black combat boots sounded seconds after her own, making her aware of the embodiment of insanity now tailing closely behind.

He watched her.

She gripped her bag tightly, with both hands. Her back hunched like an eerie cat’s. Her calves tensed inappropriately with each step–the heels were hurting her. After all, she was only supposed to walk around an office in them.

Not run from perpetrators in deserted alleyways.

Anybody else would have laughed at the crease in her brow and the sweat in her hands. _It’s Captain America,_ they would have said. _Whom else safer to be accompanied by than Captain-fucking-America?_

But people were not so knowing nowadays, which was well and fine for Steve, who did not need this part of him to be known.

He sighed, his strides becoming longer, and his hunger never satiated. It wasn’t like he wanted to _hurt_ her. He wasn’t going to harm her–until now, he had no intention of even touching her. But oh, did he love to watch. Every Tuesday and Thursday night, did he _love_ to chase behind her like a madman and watch rare paranoia manifest itself in her gentle, womanly frame.

After all, she deserved _some_ consequence for how rude and stuck up she was.

She was known for her stiff attitude, rigid posture, and isolate personality. Every day, she strutted around like some hot-shot, too good to give anyone a chance. But twice a week–twice a week, Steve got to see her entire ego and posture melt into the ground as the realities of life came upon her with each centimetre of distance he closed between them. She cowered and picked up her pace. Her head on a constant swivel, she displayed the keys on her lanyard between her fingers in a tight fist, just in case she needed to defend herself. Her arched brow became furrowed and her dull, bored eyes became frantic with ghosts, glistening with the threat of tears. The eyes were Steve’s favourite part, when she would glance back and see his massive body moving steadily behind her in the shadows, following her on every turn, every maneuver. Her eyes would begin to resemble those of an animal, tortured endlessly in a cage and left to gull in pain.

He watched her.

Tonight, she did something interesting.

At the four-way intersection ten blocks from her house, she made a left turn instead of a right. _What’s this?_ Steve thought, his head tipped sideways in curiosity. _This is not your way home._

Foolish girl. More distance from home was only more _dangerous_ in such a scenario. Then again, women weren’t necessarily the smartest or wisest creatures. They were made for men, as partners and abodes. Steve had found one for himself. Soon, he would make her his.

The left turn became a narrow sidewalk that passed behind an old department store. There was a metal fence lining the walk, and no lighting to save any man. Suddenly, she stopped.

Steve froze.

Slowly, she turned around to face him, like a ragdoll moving on puppet strings. There was something in her hand he hadn’t noticed before–actually, there was something in _both_ of her hands, and one of these was obviously a phone. _So what’s that other thing?_

“I don’t know–who–who you are…”

Her voice was shaky and coiled with nerves. It plastered a gleam onto his blue eyes, igniting bubbles in his belly. His hands became fists of joy in his coat pockets.

“I don’t know–what you want.” She took a deep breath and held up a shaking cell phone screen to him. “I–I have 9-1-1 on–on speed dial. I just have to press call…”

Steve eyed her other hand, now fully invested. He liked this game. “The police will take at least six minutes to get here. What will you do until then?”

She seemed to have been hit on the back of the head with a hammer. Something came over her face as she speculated his voice. “I… Do I know you?”

“Does it matter?” He registered then that she had never seen his face accurately. She didn’t know who he was. Not yet. “Tell me, what will you do in the meantime?”

She angled the other object in his direction and clicked something on it. His ears perked as an eight-inch serrated silver switch blade appeared out of the hilt within a split second. Her hand shook violently as she held it, not daring to even glance at the menace of its tang.

Oh, he _very_ much liked this game.

“You know, I can hear your heart racing all the way from here?” He stepped closer–she winced–and placed a hand on either side of his slim hips, preening cockily. Perhaps it was the beard and overgrown hair which he had recently coloured brown that kept her aloof from his identity. Steve had been trying to divert people’s attention from himself nowadays.

“What?” She scowled, visibly losing brain cells in tormenting confusion. “Who the _fuck_ _are _you?”

“Easy,” he snapped. Then, he sighed, dropping his hands with stooped shoulders. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Women just weren’t so…_feisty_, back in my day.”

The girl froze, the wrinkles in her forehead flattening as her eyes rounded, dumbfounded.

“You… It’s you, isn’t it? You disappeared months ago.”

Steve gave a short chuckle of mockery. “_Disappeared._ You people are pathetic.”

Golden light made an appearance at the bend all the way down the street. He witnessed fleeting hope flash in her eyes for a second before the darkness of the night returned, reaping her soul of faith as it came. He could almost see the hairs standing on the back of her neck and her arms.

He wanted to feel them.

“Is–is this your heroism?” she griped, re-gauging the weapon in a fresh grip that had her knuckles whitening. “What would you want with me, anyways? I’m a–a _nobody_. All I’ve _done_ the past few months was to make sure I _stayed_ a nobody!”

The tremble in her tone had Steve’s cock twitching. Blood rushed to his nether regions and his ears when he thought about that shuddery voice gasping in his ear as he took what she owed him, right there against the cold, rusted metal fence.

If she could know his thoughts, perhaps some of the colour would return to her cheeks.

Steve smiled. “Looks like you didn’t do a very good job. Then again, you’re just a lady. There’s only so much you can do with your brains.”

If she was offended by his statement, she didn’t show it.

“What do you want from me?” Her nostrils flared and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He wanted to know whether they were due to sadness, fear, anger, or just the harsh, brisk wind prickling her everywhere. They fuelled his desires all the same.

“What does any capable man want from a woman at any given time?”

He didn’t care how blunt it came off–if it was going to scare her, it was all the better for him: he _thrived_ off of fear. If it was going to make her run? Well, the fact remained that he was a super soldier, and she was a stupid dame.

Her chest rose and faltered animatedly, making her more and more irresistible. Steve had been convinced he would not actually make _physical contact_ with her. He wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You’re supposed to be protecting people,” she said finally, lowering both of her hands. “You’re supposed to be protecting me.”

Was she giving up? Steve was slightly disappointed, but no less excited inside of his pants.

“I am protecting you. I’m protecting you from yourself. You seem to have forgotten who you are–where you belong. I’m going to remind you, however many times I need to. However I need to. Whatever it takes.”

Disgust twisted her face before she swallowed it down. “What have I done to you?”

“It’s not what you have done, Moonshine.” He shook his head and began closing the distance between them alas. “It’s what you’re _going_ to do.”

She inched backwards, shaking her own head in disbelief. The tears spilled. The switchblade dropped to the ground. The hands clasped together, pleading–begging. The night became more beautiful and simultaneously more dreadful.

“Please,” she whispered.

“It’s good to remember your manners,” he commended proudly, now seconds from her wobbling structure. “That’s what makes a lady.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More disturbing stuff. All warnings apply.

The faucet was leaking again.

Everything else was…well, _fine._ Nothing more than fine, nothing less. A mattress on wood to sleep on, a floating pole on bars to hang her work clothes, a toothbrush on the porcelain sink to signify some maintenance of hygiene. Travel-sized toiletries, all of them. Inexpensive, second-hand furniture–the few pieces of it that sat in the cold, vacated apartment. A total of two plates, a bowl, a handful of cutlery and a couple of drinkware, all on display in the drying rack on the wooden counter. But she had _seven_ knives, only two of which were kitchen paring.

“What’s the point?” He asked, picking them out from underneath the lining of the supposed _cutlery drawer_ and turning them over in his hands. They were sharp and had a nice weight to them. Perfectly balanced, but no bolster. She wanted the entire blade to sink hilt-deep, it seemed. “You don’t even know how to hold a damned weapon.”

She was on the floor, where he’d directed her to sit flat on her knees. The faucet tormented her from behind, sounding every four seconds, making her believe for a fleeting heartbeat that someone else was there. That she wasn’t alone.

Well, she wasn’t alone. _He_ was with her.

In old, black cargo pants and a tight, dark sweater so aged that if that one hanging threat were to be yanked, the whole ensemble of knit would most likely come undone. He had heavy steps–or maybe it was just his combat boots. She thought about how much it would hurt if he kicked her in the gut with one of those on.

He was probably going to.

“I’ve seen you all,” she tried, and her parched throat hurt. “Playing with your weapons. I thought it would be easy enough to train myself, in case…”

_ In case something like _this_ happened._

“Well, that would’ve come in handy right about now.” He turned his head, grinning down at her glaring eyes in fascination. “Huh, sweetheart?”

She tugged again at her hands, bound securely at the bottom of her spine, behind her body. At this point, she was praying they would undo themselves somehow.

She _knew_ it. She fucking _knew_ she should have tried to get some type of self-defence training at some point, especially in a climate like this. After everything that happened–after half the universe was gone–what a stupid _idiot_ she was, to think that the worst of it was over.

No, the worst of it was just beginning.

All her life, she had refrained from men. Taken extra measures and precautions to stay away from men. Spent copious amounts of money to keep her distance from men.

Men like Captain America. Men like her own father.

“Answer me when I address you.”

She looked up at him again, heat consuming her in fearful rage.

“Yes.”

He crouched before her, his muscular thighs expanding within the cargos. His vile blue eyes travelled down her neck and to the space between her knees, which ached from kneeling on the cold, adhesive tiles.

“You will call me _Master_.” She flinched as he used the dull side of a particularly long carving blade to tuck some hair behind her ear. “Say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes M–” She closed her eyes tightly. “Yes Master.”

“Good girl.”

She frowned while her eyes were still closed. “You keep calling me a girl. I’m twenty-one.”

“And I’m a hundred-year-old mistake that this country should have learned from.” He swallowed bitterly, eyeing her trembling lip. “They keep calling me a hero.”

She opened her eyes again and let out the breath she’d been holding as he stood back up and turned away from her. The faucet let loose another drop of water that hit the sink with a plop that rung in her ears. Had this kitchen always been so dim?

“So–so you admit it? You admit–you’re–you’re not a hero?”

“What is it with people and titles?” he scoffed, crossing his thick arms and leaning his backside against the edge of the countertop. “You look a certain way? You can’t enlist for the army. You take something away from someone? You’re a villain. You give that same thing back to them? You’re a hero. Since when are they opposites of each other?”

“That…makes no sense…” she muttered.

He crouched before her again, this time so quickly that she jerked upright and back in fear. The knife was still in his hand, and he used it to indicate their persons.

“Take us, for example. To you, I’m a villain, because I’m taking something away from you, right? Your will–freedom–whatever. But I _know_ I’m your hero, because I’m going to give you exactly what you need. I’m going to give you what you _deserve_.”

He had the tip pointed at her chest then to emphasize his last words. Her heart raced as he dragged the edge of the blade between the distance from one of her shirt buttons to the next.

_ Ping…_

_ Ping…_

_ Ping…_

The threads were cut, and the discs scattered to the floor one by one as more and more of her skin was exposed. She could barely watch as a sickening manic manifested behind his eyes, memorizing every inch of her bust as it was revealed to him.

“Do you know how many girls shamed me when I was hardly five feet tall?” he whispered, a ghost of past in his features while the icy blade gently traced her collar bones. “A kid in Brooklyn, that’s all I was. Until I was an anomaly. Until I was the punch line to every joke whenever I walked into a room. It teaches you a lot about people.

“I’ve been a soldier since I was enlisted. But I’ve been at war for my whole life.”

She closed her eyes again when he began to run the weapon gently under her jaw.

“But do you know how many girls I dishonoured once I was given this power?” His voice was shrill and filled with ecstasy. “How many girls I put in their place for treating me the way that they did? You wanna know how I did that? Huh, baby? Don’t you wanna know?”

“No, no, please…” She registered then that she was crying.

Steve brought his face close to hers, until his hot breath was fanning over the same skin that the cold knife outlined. He pressed the tang to her lips, shushing her whimpers as he spoke.

“I took them. Wherever they were, whoever they were, whatever they looked like. I watched them, for a long time. And then I took them into my own world. I used them–day and night, I used them. Every inch of their hollow bodies… I mercilessly used them.

“They all scream and shout. That’s okay, I let them get it out. They threaten me, tell me I can’t do this–but I can, and I know I will. Their stupidity inspires me to hurt them more. Then, they bargain–_‘let me go, I’ll never say a word. I won’t tell anyone’_. But I don’t care about the world–our society has this obsession with heroes and needing to feel protected. I make the world feel protected, and the world absolves me of my sins. Isn’t it so beautiful, how easy it is to make yourself known as one thing, and that’s all anyone will ever see you as?”

A beggar’s mewl left her lips as she shook with fresh tears, eyes perpetually closed.

“In the end, they cry and whimper, pleading. That’s my favourite part. When I touch them wherever I want to, when I take their honour from them against their will and they _sob_–I love it. It’s a rush that no drug could ever replicate. It gets my dick so hard, the way they gasp and howl when I twist their limbs and break their bones. When I pull their hair out of their scalp and stuff it into their quivering mouths. I love it most if I can make them bleed. My favourite is when they’re menstruating. I love the smell, and the wet warmth feels so much nicer. One time, I caused one girl to have a miscarriage. I fucked her while she–”

“No!” she shouted, turning her face away in disgust. “No! Stop! You are _sick_–”

A gag cut her short and left her heaving for air.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sweetie,” he cooed. “But I need you to open your eyes. Come on. Open your eyes and look at your Master.”

He waited while she cried quietly, her face turned away. Slowly, she brought it back and looked at him with hopeless, blotchy eyes. If she was surprised to see his own glassy and pink, she didn’t show it.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he whispered. “I don’t want to kill you. It would be such a waste…”

She froze when he swiped her cheek with his thumb, catching a fat tear. Her eyes rounded as he brought it to his mouth and sucked it with a hum. He then proceeded to lean forward and place kisses up her cheeks, his tongue poking out to lick the salty wetness from her skin. Disgust piled in her throat, but an unfamiliar sensation started in the pit of her stomach, fluttering all the way down to her –

“I’ve been studying you,” he said, his face seconds from her own. He took her cheek in his massive, warm palm. “I was mad before at how you treated the guys around you, but now I know why. And I’m glad. You’ve never been touched by a man before, have you? You’re…pure.”

His lips were against hers by the end of the sentence, wet and roughly chapped. Hell, what part of him _wasn’t_ rough? But the kiss was surprisingly slow and soft.

“I wanna taste you,” he said.

She clenched up.

“Please. Don’t do this.”

He palmed his arousal, teasing himself. His lids droopy, his cheeks flushed–she could have found him to be the epitome of irresistible in a different life.

“You can let me do this in peace, or sweetheart I can drug you so heavily that you’ll be high as a cloud while I fuck the ground from beneath your feet.”

“No, _please_.”

“Don’t you see?” he asked, undoing the buckle below his navel. “The more you beg…the more you plead, the more I want you.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos so far. Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All warnings apply. Enjoy!

It was dark now.

She hadn’t seen anything in a couple of hours, it felt like. Or maybe it had only been seconds that seemed to last forever.

No, it had to have been some time since he’d blindfolded her. After he’d taken away her sight, he had proceeded to complete a set of…_rituals_, it seemed. They all revolved particularly around her body.

He had first spread her out and flat like dough on the thin mattress of her bed. Her legs and arms all spread-eagle, each limb tied down painfully tight. The pencil skirt with its stockings and the white strapless bra remained on her body at that point but provided little solace in the humility.

He touched her. _Everywhere._

She shuddered as the sound of a blade being irritated against stone filled her ears. The window was all the way open, but the icy draft pouring through and lifting her hairs to attention was the least intrusive part of this whole situation.

Steve could see the goosebumps billowing up across the surface of her bare skin. He loved the goosebumps. Millions of little hills all engorged with blood, signifying the discomfort. Maximizing the fear. Amplifying the arousal.

They were only a tiny, minuscule version of the large, _thrilled_ mountain tenting inside his own pants.

She couldn’t see the blade, but she felt it.

She felt it as it skimmed the slopes and hills of her body. Cold, hard, sharpened steel ran slow, timely marathons down her front, along her collarbones; under her breasts. She kept her tongue locked tightly against the bottom of her mouth when the knife left shy little cuts in some places, breaking the skin just barely enough to offer a peak at the rivers of red underneath.

She hated it when he sliced her bra down the middle and let her chest loose. Normally she would have looked forward to this moment of freedom all day–coming back to this wretched box she called ‘home’, peeling all the stubborn requirements of the public scope from her body, and settling into the warm bedding that welcomed her quietly; kindly. There was no judgement in this haven of dreams.

But today, there was.

She could feel the cotton judging her as more and more of her body was revealed. Her nipples, hard and sharp as any one of those knives, stood proud and ready for command. A lewd moan came from him as he gazed at her vanity. Each of her supple breasts hung slightly to the outside of her chest, inviting him to rest his throbbing cock between them.

He pressed the flat side of the cold steel to her nipple and watched her thighs press together in determination. Victory.

Next, he pushed a thumb past his lips, applicating it generously with saliva. The inevitable gasp that escaped her when he rubbed his rough, wet thumb against her nipple could have made him come. As if that weren’t enough, the pebbled peak somehow became even _more_ stiff under his touch.

“God, look at you,” he revelled. “I can’t believe I get to be the first to touch you. The first to taint you…”

She had abandoned all speech by now. There was nothing in her mind’s eye which she could use to leverage his ideas. She had seen the look in his eyes before the world had gone dark.

There was no stopping him.

Steve extracted the slick, tight skirt slowly from her waist…her hips…her legs, and finally, her ankles. The black stockings went all the way to her navel, and–

“What’s this?” he mumbled, genuinely surprised. His eyes were stuck to her crotch, boring in with an intense disbelief.

She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“So, you’re a slut,” he concluded excitedly. There was a real smile on his face, one of sheer joy and gratification. It was as if she knew _just_ what would make him crazy. Had he been conned into falling for this pretty little vessel for his rightful pleasure?

He brought his face down before her exposed apex and blew out cold air. He watched her toes curl and her jaw lock into place.

Steve moved up her body, caging her limbs with his own. His face hovered above her chest and he watched the quiver of her heavy lip increase as he blew cool air across her skin, focusing on her vulnerable peaks. When his tongue flicked over her nipple, she bit down on her lip harshly and yanked on her bound limbs.

“Tell me,” he whispered, licking the stiff, pink bud on her chest repeatedly in a sweet, gentle manner. “Does this turn you on?”

She shook her head determinedly, swallowing the truth. “No.”

“No?” he mocked. His hand cupped her breast and he took the entire peak between his lips, rolling his tongue around it. He felt her thighs squeeze around his waist, signalling their betrayal.

“No,” she panted.

He sucked on her nipple and grazed it with his teeth. Her other breast received attention too, when his free hand came around it and began to rub the pebbled point with his thumb.

“It doesn’t turn you on at all?” he asked, grinding his concealed excitement against her poorly coveted shame one time. Half of a hum elicited out of her throat before she choked it back, turning her face away.

“No!”

“You don’t want me to touch you?” He rocked his hips against her again, moaning around her flesh in his mouth.

“No,” she gasped.

His tongue flicked over the tight nipple repeatedly, coercing several panting moans to gather in her chest but she dared not let them escape. “Not at all, sweet thing?”

“Please,” she panted. “Stop touching me.”

“You should be grateful that I’m focusing on you at all,” he reprimanded. “To make me come undone is your womanly duty. I owe you no pleasure, no favours. Where are your manners?”

He picked up the knife again and held the blunt edge to her neck, causing her to cease all movement. “How do you favour your Master?”

“I–I’m–s-sorry…”

“How do you favour your Master?” he repeated, applying some pressure. He watched the skin all over her body pale and drain of life at once.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she pleaded frantically.

“No, sweetheart,” he snapped. Grabbing her jaw in his large, harsh hand, he ground his teeth together in rage. “How do you _favour_ your Master?”

A broken breath thrashed out of her throat before she swallowed her panic and nodded. “B-by making you f-feel–feel g-good, Mas-” Her voice caught on air. “Master.”

“And how will you make me feel good, servant?” He brought his face very close, speaking low and steadily into her soul.

“By let-letting you…use me–”

“And how will you let me use you?”

“How-however you–you wish…”

“Will you try to stop me?” he questioned.

“No, Master.”

“You will take what I give you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be grateful that I gave you purpose in this redundant world?”

She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. The blindfold was stained with tears that leaked past the chiffon and down to the sides of her face, into her hairline.

“I will, Master.”

“Excellent.”

He sat back on his knees, his eyes never anywhere but her body. Her face hadn’t done much for him–but oh, her _body_. Like something out of a movie; like something men in his day would pay bucks to see inside of a magazine. Just looking at her had caused a large, wet stain to form on the fabric of his cargo pants. He was afraid he would come too soon when he got to actually manifesting his desires.

“Pretty things like you should be kept safe inside of closed homes,” he told her, working off his pants and underwear. She could feel the shifts and dips in the mattress as he moved about. This was one finish line she could see coming closer ahead but hated the thought of crossing it.

This was one race she did not want to see the end of.

He took his shirt off last. If she could see the scars of victory and stains of failure on his body, she would have puked blood. Not an inch of his skin lay clean and untethered to war.

Even Steve did not look at himself in the mirror anymore.

He rubbed her swollen lips gently through the translucent black mesh of the stockings. Her back arched and she tried to close her legs, but the bindings kept them spread. A low groan and curse left his lips when the fabric grew damper and damper against his fingers.

“None of them were ever this wet for me,” he breathed. “You’re too innocent for this, aren’t you?”

“Please,” she breathed, but bucked her hips ever so slightly, contradicting her word.

“Whatever prayers you have left to say,” he muttered, leaning his body forward to close the space. “Say them now. Because once I start, there is nothing that can save you from me.”

“Don’t do this,” she begged, and it was the last time.

Steve tore the stockings with an unnecessary force that spiked her heartbeat. Sweat broke out across her body as the doom settled in, truly deadly. He bundled up the torn mesh and stuffed it all into her mouth.

“Taste your failure.”

He slapped her, hand-to-cheek, once. The force induced a crick from her neck, and she dared not lift her face again for fear that he had broken something below her jaw.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, and pinched the cheek he had just struck between his finger and thumb. He squeezed viciously and pulled on it as he spoke, bumping her head up and down again and again for impact with every word. “I…really…don’t…want…to hurt…you…”

She lay still for a moment, waiting for the next blow. It didn’t happen.

And then, she felt it.

Something intruding upon her anal cavity, pushing for entrance. Panic rose in waves of heat to her forehead, and her screams were coddled by the mesh in her mouth.

Steven smirked as he pushed the butt-end of the small knife’s handle against the tight entrance of her ass. She jerked, yanking all four limbs desperately, trying to stop the assault.

“Pretty things like you,” he began again, steadily forcing the grip further inside. Tears sprung past the blindfold yet, splashing down her cheeks as her muffled hollers of pain filled the room. “Pretty things like you shouldn’t be so conniving and crude. You should know your place. I’m going to show it to you.

“I hate hurting you, you know that? I hate hurting people.” He sat back and stroked himself slowly once the weapon’s grip was buried completely within her snug crevice. She looked lethal, tied up like this, her magnificent body helpless and trembling before him to do whatever he pleased.

He could do whatever he _wanted_.

He touched her soft folds, which welcomed his fingers with slick, warm excitement. She wasn’t dry like some of the others. Then again, she hadn’t ever experienced a man’s touch before–this was her first time, so her body was bound to react to the right movements and stimulation.

He wondered how good he could make her feel.

“I want to taste you,” he announced, making up his mind for good. The fingers came up from her flesh and to his mouth, where he sucked and devoured them, teasing his own temptations and dwindling soul. He hummed around his knuckles, closing his eyes in glory. “I haven’t tasted something so sweet in ages.”

She hated how it churned her body even more, the things he said and the way he touched her. But the truth came down to the gist, which was that she had made clear that she _didn’t_ _want_ to be touched.

Steve bent low and hovered his mouth over her swollen lips. He gently stretched them apart with his thumbs and blew out onto them, studying every emotion in her expression with amusement.

When he licked a long, evident swipe upwards between her folds, she lost it.

He had never heard such sweet sounds from a woman before. His tongue toyed with her clit, abusing and tormenting it like no tomorrow while the sound of her shy gasps and squeals filled the room. And he was right: the colour _did_ come back to her cheeks.

He devoured her for mere moments before she clenched up and called out in horror. Waves of ecstasy rippled through her, owning her body completely and pulling it away from reality. She wanted to feel ashamed but didn’t get the chance, what with the world coming down in sparks around her.

“No…” It was a pathetic whimper that escaped her lips at the end of it all; a thumb tack in a perpetual brick wall.

The Captain crawled up her body, aligning his lips with her ear. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being such a good girl.”

She turned her face away in disgust, her body shuddering in its weakness. He made this an opportunity to torment the sensitive skin of her earlobe and neck, driving her crazy with wet circles of his tongue. He could tell he’d hit home when her nipples hardened against his chest and she began to moan, a sound that deepened his craving.

“I am going to ruin you for anyone else.” It was a promise that curdled her blood, and yet his advances had her back arching into him. “I am going to leave my name branded into every inch of your soul. You will remember me. I will own you until your last day.”

He sat back and yanked the knife’s handle out of her ass in one swift, merciless motion. Her cry of pain ripped through the quiet of the otherwise lifeless box she lived in. He studied the slight gape of her anal cavity, satisfied with its stretch, and threw aside the little knife. The sound of it scalping the floor carelessly prickled at her senses while she anticipated the next course of torture.


End file.
